


Out of the Deep Fryer

by radondoran



Category: Scooby Doo Where Are You! (TV 1969)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radondoran/pseuds/radondoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaggy and Scooby have escaped another scary situation--haven't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Deep Fryer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dm21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dm21/gifts).



"Like I know, Scoob, but I just had to get outta that creepy haunted house!" Shaggy glanced down at his constant companion, whose canine eyes glimmered under the neon sign that flashed MALT SHOP MALT SHOP MALT SHOP MALT SHOP MALT SHOP MALT SHOP MALT SHOP.... "Look, I'm sure the others'll catch up soon enough. Meantime I'm starved, what about you?"

They entered. The door chime's tinny resonance faded away into the hum of the cool fluorescent lights. There was no other sound. The tile floor, metallic tables, barstools, booths all sat pristine and empty.

"Like wow. It's like a ghost town in here!" His nervous giggle fell dully against the tiles. He cleared his throat and approached the counter. "Barkeep? Uh, Lou? Hello! Anybody here?"

He applied himself vigorously to the little bell on the counter, but after twenty seconds of constant noise it, too, faded into high-pitched silence and brought no change.

"Maybe they went out for lunch?" Half-unconsciously Shaggy reached down to scratch Scooby Doo behind the ears. "Well, least our booth's open. Guess we'll just have to wait."

They sat down. The vinyl was cold against Shaggy's T-shirt. The hum of the lights seemed to rise and rise and rise without ever reaching a higher pitch. One of them was flickering so faintly and irregularly that it might not have been flickering at all but for the tiny knocking sounds like something was trapped inside; or maybe that was the sound of his own reflection blinking nervously at him from the broad stark black front window—

Shaggy couldn't take it anymore and leapt to his feet, his voice uncannily loud with false bravery. "Y-y-you know what, I got an idea. How about some rock and roll to calm our nerves?"

He punched in a song on the jukebox almost at random. There was a distant _clank_ as the dime fell into the machine, then the clicking of the records against each other as the song flipped into position. "Th—there we go." Shaggy relaxed a little as the needle found the groove, and

" _Zoinks!!_ "

For an instant he couldn't distinguish his own shriek from the abrupt chest-shaking noise that had prompted it. Then the familiar pipe organ tumbled down to a lower register, and played that first shocking three-note theme again.

Frantically Shaggy grabbed the sides of the jukebox and tried to shake some sense into it. "Like this is definitely not Strawberry Alarm Clock!" The organ-notes started to build again—more chords—louder— "That's it, I'm outta here!"

The music grew more rapid, more chilling—louder—louder far than these speakers could explain—the whole malt shop singing with rising frenzy—and Shaggy pulled faster and harder at the doors. "Like we're trapped! It won't open—it says pull and I'm pullin', but it won't—help me out here, Scoob!"

He froze. "...Scooby Doo?" One hand still resting on the cool glass, he slowly turned to look behind him.

Scooby was tagging along at his heels, as he had been this whole time. "S-S-Scooby?"

 _Hrouf,_ barked the Great Dane, in a voice as low and sharp as the deepest notes of the organ.


End file.
